The Samurai Infection
by Alashiya
Summary: If you saw "The Aku Infection," and if you, like me, wondered how it might have played the other way...this is for you.
1. Default Chapter

NOTE TO BRITISH READERS: The word "flannel" figures prominently in this story. When I use it, I do not mean A flannel (which we call a "washcloth" over here across the pond), but an actual piece of flannel fabric.  
  
THE SAMURAI INFECTION  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
Swordsmanship must be lined with morals.  
--Miyamoto Musashi  
  
Bushido calls upon men to rise to the succor of their fellow-creatures in danger from bandits, robbers, and other evil-doers, even at the sacrifice of their lives.  
--Kano Jigoro  
  
Don't go out in this weather dressed like that, you'll catch your death of cold!  
--Your mom  
  
When a person slogs through a snowstorm wearing geta sandals and a thin silk kimono, it is not difficult to predict the likely result. As Samurai Jack trudged down the little village's main street, coughing, sneezing, wiping his streaming eyes, men veered away from him, and women, who, having taken a preliminary look at him, had been preparing to drop something as he came closer, thought better of it and held onto the comb or the compact or the coin purse.  
  
Jack sniffled his way into the village marketplace, where he obtained a cup of chicken soup from a pushcart vendor. (He didn't buy it--the vendor made it a gift rather than accept money that Jack had handled.) Feeling thoroughly miserable, he leaned against the side of a jeweler's booth, sipping the soup. His head and his back ached.  
  
At a familiar whirring sound he swung around, to behold a horde of beetle-drones scuffling officiously down the street. People scattered. The beetle-drones faced him in the suddenly empty plaza.  
  
Jack set his soup down, hoping it wouldn't get spilled during the unpleasantness. The banner of "Joy's Jewelry," where only a moment before a Japanese lady and five gaijin ladies had been happily shopping, flapped in the wind, a sad, empty sound.  
  
The drones edged closer.  
  
"Come on." Jack sneezed. "Let's get on with it." He thumbed the tsuba of his sword, easing the first inch of bright steel out of the scabbard.  
  
The drones fidgeted. Sometimes Jack thought they might be alive in some rudimentary sense. They did seem to have an instinct of self- preservation; every time they showed up they were a little more reluctant to attack him. But, as always, the insistent command of their ruthless master finally drove them to it.  
  
Jack had long since given up counting how many drones he killed during these encounters, but he couldn't help noticing that today's attack force seemed much larger than usual. When he finally stood safe, surrounded by heaps of metallic carcasses, he thought he might have bested his previous kill record of five hundred sixty-eight.  
  
The sun shone. Jack sneezed. The banner flapped. The dead drones leaked black oil that smelled like choji. All seemed quiet. Holding his sword ready in his left hand, just in case, Jack reached for his miraculously upright soup container. And as he leaned down and stretched his hand out...  
  
...a huge shadow blotted out the sun and Aku's gnarled hand clamped cruelly on his left wrist. The drone attack had been a diversion. Sick as he was, his alertness dulled, Jack had fallen right into the trap. Dropping the soup, he quickly wrapped his right hand around his left, and swung himself up and locked his legs around Aku's arm, clinging to the demon as if he were a tree branch. Aku's triumphant expression changed to one of frustrated anger as he saw how they were stalemated. If he broke Jack's left wrist, the samurai would seize the sword in his smart right hand and use it. If he tried to peel Jack's legs off his arm with his other hand, he risked losing focus and relaxing his grip on Jack's left wrist for a fatal moment. Aku could not use eyeball rays or fiery breath without burning himself, and he was too cowardly to tolerate the pain, even if it would gain him victory. For his part, Jack had no use of his right hand; if he relaxed his grip for a fraction of a second, he would be lost.  
  
They glared at each other around Aku's wrist. Jack sneezed.  
  
"You cannot hold your position forever, samurai."  
  
"Neither *sniffle* can you," Jack said reasonably, and coughed.  
  
Aku tried to shake him off. He hung on. Aku banged his fist repeatedly on the ground. Jack was further shaken up, but he was too far up Aku's arm, and too firmly attached, to be knocked off that way. Aku tried swatting his arm against the ground. Jack was bruised, but he was at the wrong angle for Aku to crush him between the arm and the ground. Aku couldn't get the necessary leverage. Aku whacked him against the booth. Jack winced and hung on. Aku grabbed the sword blade with his other hand. By now Jack's left hand was nearly numb, but he managed to twist the sword just a little.  
  
"Ow!" Aku popped his bleeding thumb into his mouth for a moment. Holding Jack up before his face, he said, "Look here. We could go on like this for days."  
  
"I have no--achoo!--pressing business elsewhere," Jack replied, sniffling.  
  
"Of course you haven't, you vagabond ronin! You have never worked a day in your life! But I have plenty of business. Some of us earn our living. Let's make a bargain, samurai. All I really want is the sword. Without the sword, you are no threat to me."  
  
Jack coughed and sniffled.  
  
"Give me the sword and I will let you live. You may go your way in peace. What say you, samurai?" Aku leaned in close, peering inquiringly at him.  
  
It caught both of them by surprise, a mighty sneeze-- AAAAAAAHCHOOOOOOOO!--that blasted unexpectedly out of Jack's mouth, spraying a barrage of infectious droplets right into the startled demon's face. "Yuck!" Aku yelled, jerking away instinctively.  
  
Clutching his sword, Jack dropped to the ground, and began to yell out a challenge. "AAAAAAAA--" His yell broke into coughs before he got the "- ku!" out. "AAAAAAAAAA--" Cough, cough, cough. He gave up on the yell and silently assumed a daijodan position, ready to attack.  
  
Aku was righteously indignant. "So, samurai, is this your famous honor? Biological warfare?"  
  
Jack was stung. "I did not *cough* *cough* *wheeze* do it on purpose!"  
  
"A likely story!" With that parting shot, the demon sprouted wings and flew away in a huff.  
  
Sometime during the beetle battle, Jack's topknot had come undone. The wind blew his hair in his face. He looked around for the tie, but didn't see it, and was suddenly too weary to search for it. Feeling utterly wretched, he sank down on the ground.  
  
The six ladies cautiously emerged from behind the booth.  
  
"Sir?" the Japanese lady said. "Are you all right?"  
  
"You don't look well at all, sir," a gaijin lady said.  
  
Jack forced a polite smile but couldn't summon the energy to respond.  
  
"Do you speak English?" another gaijin lady asked.  
  
"Or Japanese?" the Japanese lady added. "I can interpret for you if you do. I know some English."  
  
"I'm afraid he's hurt," a third gaijin lady said.  
  
At that he looked up. "Thank you, I am not hurt. I am fine."  
  
The ladies all started talking at once. "Oh, my!" "Listen to him!" "You poor thing! You sound terrible!" "You've got to get in out of the cold!" They fluttered around him. "You're feverish!" "Here. Put my coat over your shoulders." "You shouldn't be dressed like that when it's this cold!" "Don't you have any boots?" "Where do you live? We'll take you home."  
  
"Thank you, but I have no home." Jack got up. During his struggle with Aku his belt had become loosened and slid down over his hips. Now it fell off. His kimono flapped open in a sudden chilly breeze.  
  
The ladies stared wide-eyed. Four of them swallowed hard.  
  
Jack re-wrapped the kimono as tight as he could. Returning the coat, he bowed. "Thank you. It was good meeting you."  
  
"Oh, no!" one lady cried as he started away. They pounced on him and hustled him away from the marketplace. "You're too sick to go off on your own." "You're not going anywhere but to bed!" "We'll take you straight to Ronelle's house. It's the closest."  
  
"That's right," said the one who must be Ronelle. "You're going home with me and you'll stay in bed in my guest room until you're better."  
  
"But--"  
  
"This is Tomoko," Ronelle interrupted. Tomoko bowed. "And Samantha, and Kiki, and Amy, and Linda. What's your name?"  
  
He coughed and sniffled. "I am called Jack."  
  
The ladies stopped right in the middle of the street and began jumping up and down excitedly. "SQUEEEEE!" "Oooh! I knew it!" "It had to be you!" "I have a collection of your WANTED posters!" "SQUEEEE!" "I've always wanted to meet you!"  
  
Jack sneezed. The ladies hustled him off to Ronelle's house, where they insisted on helping him undress, looking curiously at his old- fashioned underwear as they did so. They fluffed up pillows behind him and tucked a heavy patchwork quilt around his body and up under his chin. Amy sponged his hot face with a nice cool damp cloth. He tried to offer the requisite courtesies about being such a bother, but since every time he opened his mouth someone would pour in honeyed tea or more chicken soup, he decided he might as well hold his peace.  
  
Samantha left the room, returning with a small blue jar and a big square of red flannel. "Here you go, Jack. This will make you feel better."  
  
"I'll get it." Ronelle grabbed at the jar.  
  
"Oh, don't go to all that trouble. I'll do it." Amy grabbed at the jar.  
  
"I'll do it." Linda grabbed at the jar.  
  
"He won't be so embarrassed if someone Japanese does it." Tomoko grabbed at the jar.  
  
"I'll do it!" "No, let me!" "I'll do it!" "I can do it!"  
  
As the ladies scrabbled for the jar, it flew out of Samantha's hand. Jack shot his hand from beneath the quilt and caught it. "How do I use this medicine?"  
  
The ladies looked disappointed, but they explained. Following their instructions, Jack applied a thick coat of the aromatic rub to his chest, covering it with the piece of flannel, which stuck tight to the greasy ointment. The ladies seemed to feel that the flannel was a very important part of the treatment, and took great pains to get it placed exactly right. This required much patting, touching, stroking, and rubbing of his chest, but finally they had the flannel adjusted to their satisfaction, and then they fluffed his pillows and tucked him back in.  
  
Jack coughed. "Thank you, ladies. I am sure--aahchoo!--that the gods will bless you for your kindness to a poverty-stricken ronin."  
  
"SQUEEEEEEEE!" the ladies replied logically, and then cooed to each other, "Isn't he sweet?" "He's so wonderful." "What a man." "Awwwwww."  
  
Jack covered a yawn. Then, enveloped in a comforting cloud of menthol and eucalyptus fumes, he rolled over and went to sleep. 


	2. Aku!

CHAPTER TWO  
  
While Jack slept, Aku returned to the Pit. Simmering, he slammed the door and stomped to his throne. The nerve of that samurai, sneezing in one's face like that! Some people had no upbringing. Aku's throat was already feeling scratchy, he was doomed to catch the samurai's cold. His day was ruined. Maybe some gratuitous cruelty would perk him up. Aku called a general assembly of his minions. He would look them over and kill a few.  
  
Presently they stood before him in neat, nervous rows. The more experienced ones, who had survived previous general assemblies, were doing their best to be inconspicuous. Scanning the assembled multitude, Aku suddenly pointed at one in the front. "You! I have been told that you have said you would like to have another position if you could!" The minion stammered. He might, or might not, have said something like that at some time or other. It didn't matter. "I'll do better than getting you a new position. In view of your service, I'll allow you to retire. You need never work again! Consider yourself retired!" On the last word, Aku blasted out a pair of eyeball rays that reduced the hapless minion to smoking cinders. He zapped five more, selected at random, and then surveyed the sweaty, fidgeting survivors. Not a one of them was worth a fart in a high wind, he thought. If they couldn't even face their own benevolent employer without quailing, how in the world could they successfully tackle that savage samurai? No wonder Aku was still plagued with him, burdened as Aku was with minions like these. If it weren't so difficult to find minions at all, one would be tempted to slaughter the lot and start over from scratch.  
  
His glare swept over the ranks. The minions hardly dared breathe.  
  
"And as for the rest of you..." Aku hissed and snarled. "As for the rest of you, I have only one thing to say, and that is..." He paused for effect. "...that you're all doing a fine job under very difficult circumstances, and I'm giving you all a forty per cent raise."  
  
Dead silence. Aku couldn't believe what he'd just said. Certainly it was not what he had intended to say. The minions couldn't believe it either; he could see them glancing sidelong at each other, checking: Did you hear what I thought I heard? Then they erupted into cheering, cheering him, the almighty Aku. He had never been cheered in his life, and it was not at all to his liking. He didn't want to be cheered. He wanted to be feared.  
  
"Get out!" he yelled. They got out. Aku sneezed. Damn that samurai. Aku was going to get hold of him, and...  
  
Aku turned to his screen, stating his request with less of a snarl than usual, as if his voice were softening. The picture popped up. There was the samurai, and, finally, Aku had caught him asleep! Asleep and off guard! He was tossing restlessly in bed, flushed and feverish, looking even sicker than when Aku had seen him earlier today. Certainly he would be in no condition to defend himself.  
  
"Got him!" Aku murmured triumphantly, and bellowed out an order for the minions to reassemble, which they did post-haste. Using the nearest minion as a tissue, Aku blew his nose. He wadded up the minion and threw him away, and said, "See that samurai? He's practically helpless! Sick as he can be! Go get him!"  
  
Or that was what he intended to say. What came out was, "See that picture? Isn't it clean? Isn't the color realistic?"  
  
The minions agreed enthusiastically. (They would have agreed enthusiastically if Aku had said it was snowing in August.)  
  
"We'll never have another opportunity like this!" Aku tried to say. What came out was, "We'll never attack someone who's too sick to defend himself!"  
  
The minions looked bewildered, but no one dared ask any questions.  
  
"So go kill him and bring me back his head!" That was what Aku wanted to say. What he did say was, "So we won't be attacking the samurai today."  
  
The minions looked even more bewildered. Aku's head and horns were beginning to ache. He dismissed them, shut off the picture, and tried to slump on his throne, but he couldn't. Suddenly he didn't feel right when he slumped. He felt more comfortable when he sat up erect.  
  
"I'm not at all myself," Aku said. "What I need is to get out and get some stale air." So he headed for the busiest area of the Central Hub. There he stood on the corner of the main street, took a deep breath of exhaust fumes--and broke into a paroxysm of coughing.  
  
"What in the world--?" Bewildered, Aku passed his hand over his head. A horn came off painlessly in his hand. He looked at it. The stump of the horn wasn't bleeding. He tapped his head. No wound. It was almost as if the horn hadn't been his...  
  
The exhaust fumes were making his headache worse. Aku went to a park and sat down on a bench, trying to make sense out of the increasingly strange feelings washing over him. His nose was starting to drip, too. He should have thought to bring along a handful of minions.  
  
A woman came along and sat down on the other end of Aku's bench. "Hi."  
  
"Who dares to sit on my bench without an invitation?" Aku's voice had become a silken purr. No wonder the woman didn't look frightened. Instead, she looked intrigued.  
  
"Well, invite me," she said, and smiled flirtatiously.  
  
"What?"  
  
The woman giggled. Aku fled. As he was hurrying down the street, he noticed the sidewalk seemed a lot closer, and the buildings a lot taller. "I'm shrinking!" Aku cried.  
  
A group of women waiting for the stoplight heard, and turned to look. One said, "Sweetie, I think you're perfect just the way you are!" They all giggled madly.  
  
How could women giggle at the almighty Aku? And why weren't furious lethal rays shooting out of his eyeballs? What was wrong with him? Sneezing now and then, Aku walked on; he didn't know what else to do. Preoccupied, he nearly bumped into the little boy who stood crying on the sidewalk. "What's wrong?" Aku asked, wondering in passing why he should care.  
  
The little boy pointed to a nearby group of laughing, lounging teenagers. Sobbing, he said, "They knocked me down and took my popsicle!"  
  
Good for them. The thought drifted faintly through Aku's mind, like the barely remembered voice of a long-unseen acquaintance, and then it was incinerated by white-hot rage. He stepped up to the teenagers. "You owe this young man a popsicle and an apology."  
  
"Bite me, samurai!"  
  
It infuriated Aku even more to hear the honorable word "samurai" issue from this wretch's mouth. Wasting no further time on talk, he shot out his foot, snapping the lout's knee. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one coming for him; he threw that one over his shoulder and into the others, knocking them all down. A kick to three mouths, one right after the other, put their owners out of the fight. Aku pounced on the last lout, forcing him down prone. Applying an arm bar that made the lout whimper, Aku said to the little boy, "Reach into his pocket and take what you need."  
  
The little boy complied. "Thank you, samurai!"  
  
"My pleasure," Aku said, and indeed it had been. He addressed himself to the lout. "Tell him you're sorry and perhaps I will not break your arm."  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"  
  
Aku lifted an inquiring eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, let him go," the little boy said, and Aku stepped back. The louts who could still walk picked up their friend with the broken knee and struggled off. The little boy hugged Aku.  
  
Aku returned the hug. "I will see you home."  
  
"Oh, that's okay, I only live four houses down." The little boy peered up at him with concern. "Samurai? Are you all right?"  
  
"A slight cold, that's all. Why?"  
  
"Well..." The little boy scrutinized him. "Um--your eyebrows look sort of--er--charred. Like they'd been on fire. I know it sounds strange..."  
  
"I shall look into it." Aku bowed. The little boy bowed too, and ran off, waving.  
  
The next time he passed a plate-glass window, Aku used it as a mirror. Certainly he didn't feel well, but there was nothing unusual about his appearance. A perfectly ordinary-looking samurai, with heavy dark eyebrows and a square chin, stared back at him from the window. He didn't understand what the little boy had been talking about. Maybe the poor kid had cracked his head when he had been knocked down.  
  
Aku moved on. Even though he'd caught this awful cold somewhere or other, meeting the little boy had made him happy. Was this not the highest purpose in the life of a samurai, to defend those who could not defend themselves? What a privilege!  
  
His satisfied smile vanished suddenly. He had not always been this way. There were things he had done...he could not now remember why he had done them, maybe he'd been drunk, but they had been terrible things...dishonorable things...  
  
Aku knew what he must do. As the sun sank low, he walked on, planning his strategy. 


	3. Aku?

CHAPTER THREE  
  
Samurai Jack sat in a cushy armchair with his feet propped on a cushioned stool. Amy was ironing his kimono. Samantha was rubbing his feet. Kiki was assembling more sushi rolls. Linda was combing out his freshly shampooed hair. (Author's privilege!) Tomoko was brewing him up a nice hot bowl of ocha. And Ronelle was polishing his sword.  
  
"Ladies," Jack began, "I can never thank you enough for all your kindness. And much as I hate to leave--"  
  
"Leaving? Who said anything about leaving?" "Where would you go?" "You're no trouble!" "You stay right here!" "You're not well enough yet to leave!"  
  
"I am fine. Thanks to all of you. And I must leave you."  
  
The ladies protested. "You're not well enough!" "It's only been three weeks!" "If you leave now you'll get sick again!"  
  
"I am fine," Jack repeated. "And I must go."  
  
They all started to cry.  
  
"Why can't you stay with us?" "Don't you like us?" "Did we offend you?"  
  
"Of course not," Jack said. "You are my friends. But I must continue my quest. I must find Aku and set things right to save my family and my people." They all nodded in understanding, but continued to cry. "Ladies, if I survive, I will come back to visit you. And I will miss you."  
  
There seemed nothing more to say. Sobbing quietly, the ladies followed him to the front gate. Sadly, he bowed and started off.  
  
"Jack-san, wait!" Tomoko hurried after him.  
  
He paused. "Hai?"  
  
She spoke Japanese. "We want to know--must you wander always? Don't you ever get tired of wandering?"  
  
"I do," he said. "But I have my duty."  
  
"If you ever stop wandering--will you come back and see us?"  
  
"I will," Jack said. "You will be the first people I would want to see. Sayonara."  
  
Tomoko passed this on in English, and she and all the other ladies began to cry even harder. They were still crying when they saw him off. He felt very bad for them. As he wandered, searching for Aku, he sent postcards to them whenever he could. He had been searching for three weeks (and had sent five postcards), when one day, as he was walking through a pleasant little rural village, he saw a samurai coming down the street towards him. Something about the samurai's bearing looked awfully familiar. As he came closer, Jack noticed that the reason the samurai looked so familiar was that the samurai resembled him! He wasn't an identical twin, as Mad Jack had been, but the two of them could certainly have passed as brothers.  
  
"Ohayo gozaimasu," Jack said, bowing politely.  
  
The samurai halted. "Oh, good, it's you! I've been looking all over for you!"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I don't use the screen anymore, you know," the samurai explained. "It's an invasion of people's privacy."  
  
"Do I know you, sir?"  
  
"Of course you know me. How could you forget Aku?"  
  
Jack stared. "Aku is a demon."  
  
The samurai looked embarrassed. "I did things I'm not proud of, that is true. And that is why I've been looking for you." Right there in the dusty street, he sank into a formal kowtow. "Please forgive me the terrible wrongs I have done you."  
  
This poor deranged soul needed to be taken someplace where he could be cared for. "Sir," Jack began, "I think perhaps you--"  
  
The samurai sat back in a seiza position. "You don't believe I'm Aku, do you?"  
  
Jack searched for a tactful response that would not exacerbate the madman's pitiful delusions.  
  
"Do you believe it now?" And the samurai sprouted wings and hovered in the air.  
  
Jack did believe. How this could be possible he did not know, but he did believe.  
  
Aku descended to the ground and resumed seiza. Jack assumed daijodan.  
  
"I knew you would want to kill me," Aku said, "and I don't blame you a bit. Go right ahead."  
  
"Get up and fight!"  
  
"I will never again raise a hand against anyone else. Especially not you. Go ahead."  
  
Jack swept the sword down, pulling his cut at the last possible moment, because Aku had not moved. "Get up and fight! I can't strike down someone who has surrendered! Fight me!"  
  
Aku looked up at him. "I have set everything right. I have corrected all other wrongs I have done. There remains only to make amends to you."  
  
Jack started to answer, but then he felt an indescribable situation. Instinctively, he knew that he was feeling reality adjusting itself.  
  
Aku smiled gently. "Better?"  
  
"Go away," Jack said. "Leave me. Still I do not trust you. I will look around and see for myself. I know your tricks, Aku!"  
  
Bowing again, Aku got up. "See for yourself, then. If you are still not happy, I will find you, and you may kill me if you like. I will neither blame you nor resist you." He walked off. Wide-eyed, Jack looked after him. This was certainly the most creative trick Aku had ever tried. It was, in fact, quite unlike him to be that creative. Jack wavered for a moment. Then he turned about and walked three blocks down the street to the little town's library. He pulled some history books off the shelf, sat down at a table, and began to read.  
  
According to the books, it was all true. According to the books, Jack's family had lived long, happy, peaceful lives, as had nearly everyone else. The books said that Aku had prevented World Wars I and II, cured cancer, eliminated smog, and jailed everybody who yapped on a cell phone in a theater or a house of worship. He was known as Aku the Benevolent. Thanks to him, the world was darn near perfect. Jack was frankly stunned. This seemed impossible, but all the books backed each other up...  
  
...then again, the "all-powerful Aku" could probably get book publishers to publish whatever propaganda he wanted. Jack decided he would go from place to place and see for himself.  
  
He spent three months on his investigation, at the end of which time he was forced to conclude that, unlikely as it seemed, the reign of Aku the Benevolent was indeed a reality now. Jack had seen no bounty hunters, no drones. He had not rescued anybody. Nobody needed rescuing. There was nothing left for Samurai Jack to do in this nearly perfect world. If he liked, he could get out of the hero business and spend the rest of his days doing whatever he darn well pleased. But, he thought uncertainly, what might that be? He was still in the future. If he went back in time, he might somehow alter this desirable state of affairs. It was safest for his family, and everyone, if he stayed when he was. But what could he do here in the future, where he was an anachronism? Where could he go to feel at home?  
  
A possibility occurred to him, and, smiling suddenly, he stuck out his hand and hailed a ride with a passing farm truck.  
  
******************************  
  
Jack had left them five months ago. The ladies were still miserable. Today, as on most days, they sat around Ronelle's living room, sharing their misery with each other.  
  
Holding the large flat box that had just been delivered, Kiki said, "Those jerks! They put the extra hot fudge on the pizza like we wanted, but there's no Snickers! How can we eat the pizza without Snickers?"  
  
Samantha wailed, "Oh, Jack..."  
  
Everybody burst into tears.  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"I'll get it," Kiki said listlessly.  
  
"While you're up," Amy said, "could you please bring me another quart of ice cream?"  
  
"And another one of those giant chocolate bars," Ronelle added.  
  
Knock. Knock.  
  
"Hold it, I'm coming!" Kiki opened the door, ready to snarl at the impatient caller. Instead, she said, "SQUEEEEEEEEEE!"  
  
The other ladies looked up. "SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" they all said.  
  
The samurai at the door bowed. "Ladies, I have come back. To stay, if you like."  
  
"SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE!"  
  
"I missed you, too," Samurai Jack said, smiling.  
  
And everybody lived happily ever after. 


End file.
